


I Could Fly

by WideWalkEngineer



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drinking, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Surgery, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WideWalkEngineer/pseuds/WideWalkEngineer
Summary: A Science Party (Engineer and Medic) book filled with loads of science and fun!-Who am I kidding. No, it's not.TRIGGER WARNINGS: Internal homophobia, suicide, loss of a loved oneThere is NOT sexual content in this book, so don't worry about having to not read certain chapters if you're a minor. I personally wouldn't read it if you're pretty young though, because this book is seriously messed up and runs through themes that can ruin a young child's mind.Anyways, this isn't a wholesome book whatsoever, so don't actually expect loads of science and fun, because all you'll really find are sad and horribly macabre moments, even though there are the occasional lovey-dovey moments later on.Team Fortress 2, and any characters in it, belong to Valve.
Relationships: Engineer/Medic (Team Fortress 2), Engineer/Soldier (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Damn Spies

Let us paint a scene. A nice, albeit hot, summer's day in a small town in New Mexico. Two taller buildings stand proudly upright, blocking out the view of the sun from some poor man's eye, while the rest of the town is slightly more far off. The residents of this town are cordial with each other, even friendly at times. Basically, the small village stereotype is shown perfectly here. Neighbors lending out cups of sugar, making sure everyone has water, which, by the way, is slightly discolored and may or may not have traces of lead in it, but we're getting off topic, and even watching each other's kids when necessary. There's no clouds in the sky, there's pools being dug, and a short, around 5 foot 6 Texan man is sitting on a cool steel lounge chair drinking an ice cold beer. You heard me right. An ice cold beer. Just kidding, I know you aren't interested in that; you're interested in the chair, aren't you? Well, not only is is cool to the touch, which is nice on any summer day, it also springs up from a goddamn toolbox! And is collapsible into it! That's right, folks, but this isn't an advertisement for the damn thing. This is a story. So, let's describe the main character, the protagonist. Shall we proceed?

His closely shaved hair and beard is a light brown, dare I say dirty blonde, but that doesn't matter, does it? I say this, reader, because he covers his head most of the time with a yellow hard hat that he tends to wear backwards. It may not seem safe, but I promise, it's a common practice for builders and construction workers. His eyes are a brilliant blue. I'm just kidding, once again. They're actually more bluish-grey, and obscured by goggles, because safety is important to him. He wears a white undershirt with a red button up over it that's rolled up to the elbows and has a button or two undone on his chest, as well as dark greyish-brown overalls with a light brown tool belt over them. His boots are a medium brown, to finish off the look. His weathered, yet friendly face forms small grimaces as he works on his machines, going back to a storage room to collect metal for them. He sports a paternal aura around him, and for good reason, as he has basically adopted a child by this point. Now, what I mean by a "child" is an adult with severe schizophrenia and Munchausen's by proxy. However, it wasn't his fault his dear friend became this way, as they wear a optical gas mask that alters their vision to correspond with their auditory and visual hallucinations. They speak with a muffled voice that masks their identity completely, and often times get made fun of and ridiculed, much to the Texan's dissatisfaction. He stands up for and takes care of his masked adoptee, and is mature and caring, albeit sometimes awkward around emotional situations. In today's language, he's a "dork" or an "absolute dad".

However, within that family man exterior is what one may call "Napoleon syndrome", or "short person syndrome". Lying in wait, concealed by the sheer maturity and fatherly energy that flows out of him, is a god complex bigger than the world he calls his own, along with a macabre set of thought processes that allowed him to hack off his own forearm to replace it with machinery. He is the proud, and I don't say "proud" lightly, owner of eleven engineering-related PHDs. A sly cackle always appears on his face as he makes a game out of finding the only electrical circuit-busters he can't outsmart on his machines and prepares to protect himself and them from the invisible threat nearby.

Now, repicture the scene I first mentioned. Then, imagine the sounds of bullets flying, machines whirring, and the bloodcurdling screams of the dying along with it. Not too pretty of a scene now, huh? That's because in that sleepy town, that we know as Teufort, there is a land war going on between two petty and ungodly old brothers: Redmond Mann, and Blutarch Mann. They each have hired mercenaries and used technology ahead of their time to survive and fight. By ungodly old, I mean that it's the late 1960s right about now, and these men were born in the early 1800s. Let that sink in. Anyways, if you couldn't tell, the Texan, along with his muffled amígo, are mercenaries. And not heroes that save a town from "the redcoats" like you see in old tales like Paul Revere. Oh, no. Mercenaries that are hated even by the civilians they live alongside with. Men that mercilessly slaughter anyone wearing their enemy's color in their path to capture their intelligence, the one thing that their bosses desire the most. People that are so heartless and cruel as to—

And,

they're arguing again. Of course.

The Texan looked up from his chair and found a Bostonian boy, skinny and yet somewhat tall, wearing a baseball cap with a headset, knee-high socks, and capris with a red t-shirt and rolled up sleeves altercating back and forth with an older French man in a, you guessed it, red balaclava and suit who was wearing a concerned face and hushing the boy. That man, the Frenchie himself, the womanizer, the sleaze...  
Had caught the Southerner's gaze.  
"What are you looking at, monsieur Engineer?" he teasingly scolded, tearing himself from his conversation with the young boy.  
"Nothin'. Y'all need to go to the objective, y'hear? Ah don't want Soldier to scream at us." the Engineer coolly replied.  
"I suppose so, labourer. You hear that, Scout?" he sneered.  
"Un-freakin'-believable. You see this, Engie? Why do I have to put up wit' Spy?" Scout interjected.  
"Because we usually both end up on the same side of the enemy, boy—"  
"Well, now that that's settled, git goin'!" the hard-hatted fellow interrupted and encouraged, "Movin' this gear up!"  
And with that, he swiftly packed up his teleporter exit and moved it to the front line of battle. Grabbing his dispenser, he transported that up as well, so it could gather metal as time passes by. When he started to head back to pick up his sentry gun, however, he had a bad guttural feeling. He knew that the enemy Spy was messing with it. Sprinting back, he cried out, "Spah sappin' mah sentry!" and charged, wrench in hand, to find the sapper device and its owner. Frantically swinging it around, he located the device and smacked it off his turret, and attempted to locate the Spy. Having no luck, the Engineer sighed and flicked the switch on his sentry, effectively packing it up into its toolbox.  
As he was about to pick it up, he felt a searing pain in his right shoulder. With wide eyes, tiny pupils hatefully glaring, and adrenaline coursing through his veins, he stood up to face his attacker. It was, in fact, the fucking enemy Spy he couldn't find just moments earlier, staring at him with an evil grin and a bloodied butterfly knife in hand. Gazing at the sharp object, the Texan realized: 'Oh, shit. He pulled the knife out. Not only have I been stabbed, now I'm fucking bleeding. Great.'  
Not your typical panic response along the lines of "I've been stabbed! Holy shit!" but rather "Shit. I'm bleeding." Huh. Looks like someone's been stabbed a few too many times in his life.  
Before he could pull out his gun to fend off the attacker, he felt yet another searing pain, this time in his stomach, and collapsed onto the ground. He started to see specks of darkness in his vision as the Frenchman laughed and snorted over his dying body.

And then...  
The laughter stopped.

The Engineer weakly looked up to see what had happened, and much to his surprise, he saw a familiar face right behind the Spy as he fell, no longer breathing well or having a steady pulse. He saw the field medic, a tall, dark-haired man with blue eyes, round glasses, and an off-white lab coat, standing behind the body with an odd-looking bonesaw. With a blink to clear his vision, the southerner realized that it wasn't a bonesaw at all. It was the Vita—

"Ah, that sample looks good. What a healthy organ!" the Medic exclaimed, examining the small gallbladder that came out of the poor spook's body when the instrument was thrusted into him.  
"You... Monster..." the Spy rasped, somehow the fuck being still alive, but barely. Because, y'know, you can still live without your gallbladder. I, reader, don't have one. Or a stomach. Or a heart. Because, y'know, I'm the disembodied voice reading this to you in your head; and if you don't have one, I'm the narrator. Anyways—  
"Shut up. At least you aren't the poor soul that... Ah, never mind." he hurriedly shushed himself. He shoved the gallbladder in a conveniently placed fucking freezer that was nearby, and stabbed the Spy again, both to make sure that he was dead, and to get another organ sample, because why the fuck not?  
When he was done dealing with the Spy and his samples, he glanced down at the poor man lying on the ground with two rather deep stab wounds.  
"Herr Conagher, are you all right?" he asked, despite fucking knowing that his companion was bleeding out.  
"Ah'm goin' to fuckin' kill ya someday, Josef." the Engineer grimly responded, tears blurring his vision and a single chuckle escaping his lips.  
"Sounds fair enough, Dell." Josef responded, and flicked on his Medigun, a feat of medicine and engineering so insane that it probably could revive the fucking dead for all we know, and focused the beam on the Texan. The stab wounds closing, and his concussion ceasing to exist, Dell stood up, went onto his toes, and backhanded the taller man in the damn face.  
Alarmed, he jolted and yelled out, "Was was that for?!" If you didn't know, the German word for 'what' is 'Was'. Now you know. And that was just as confusing for the Engineer as it probably was to you.  
"What in Sam hill were ya thinkin'? Ya couldn't 'a come an' helped before yer monologue about organ samples?" he scolded.  
Putting a hand on the back of his neck, Josef nervously chuckled.  
"I got wrapped up in the moment. Sorry, herr Conagher..."

The shorter man sighed. "It's okay, honeybunch."  
"What did you just call me?" Josef asked.  
"Ah, uh—"  
And they kissed—  
Just kidding. Jesus fucking Christ, did you really think this was just gonna be your typical oneshot fanfiction? No, of course that bullshit didn't happen. This isn't a oneshot, where things move fast. Buckle up for the long ride coming, boys. It actually went like this—

The shorter man sighed. "It's okay, Josef. Let's just get to the front lines. Anyway, what's a feller like you doin' back here?"  
"I needed to go grab some stuff, and regroup with Heavy, Soldier, and the annoying brat." He snickered at the last part.  
"Ah, makes sense." Dell grabbed his sentry toolbox from the ground and hauled it to the front line like he had meant to, and oh fuck, there was an übered Demoman charging around slaughtering his comrades, heading towards his own intelligence. With a quick "Fuck that, nope," he ran back to his base and instead put his sentry right next to it. With a beep from his construction PDA, it was announced to the Texan that his dispenser had been destroyed. He didn't even bother to say his novel line "Dispenser down!" and just sighed. Pulling out his destruction PDA, he braced for the explosion that would happen as he destroyed his turret. He sprinted as fast as his short legs could carry him and slipped on a glove in the respawn room, and grabbed a wrench, effectively making it easier to build a more intricate sentry and not just throwing down something quick. He rebuilt his dispenser back in the intel room and then went to go get more metal. Next, he built a new, more powerful sentry, and worked on it until it could fire badass rockets and shit. Cool. Now all he had to do was make sure his babies were—

The enemy Medic had arrived, and fixated his beam on what appeared to be a Heavy.

And then, he took his mask off, and the beam sparked.

'No', he thought. 'This son o' a bitch 's gonna über a Spy. There's no fuckin' way.'

But there was a way, indeed, and that, in fact, was the Medic's intention.


	2. Unmasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyro's design inspiration is not my own, and was made by kooshtea on Instagram. Go check out their work!

Holding his wrangling device, Dell stared in utter disbelief at the Spy, then back at the Medic. 'The other team must really be desperate, huh?' He slightly snickered to himself. His top of the class, valedictorian brain had already figured out about five different outcomes and what he could do to properly defend the briefcase, and he did it independently of his eyes, which narrowed and scanned the duo. I know you don't care about his academic achievements, though. I don't, either. However, the Engineer can be one cocky son of a—

But what was behind his enemies?

He saw his pride and joy, his strategy, standing a few feet behind them with only God knows what expression, and they seemed to glance towards him in acknowledgement, and then silently creeped away.  
"Alrighty. Ya win! Ah forfeit." the Engineer sighed and walked off towards the direction his buddy had been a few moments before.  
Glancing at each other, the duo grabbed the intelligence, flipping the Übercharge switch, since they couldn't trust the Texan, and bolted past him. Dell chuckled and shook his head when the two were ambushed by a certain... pyromaniac. In the matter of about a second, the Übercharge didn't matter anymore, as the enemy Medic went flying against the wall, breaking the flow of electricity and charge. All the poor German could do was sit with a few broken ribs, as he had dropped the medigun when he flew backwards, and watch in horror as his healing partner was set aflame.  
The Engineer casually strolled over to the Medic, wrench in hand, and leered down at the nearly helpless mercenary, who was now attempting to crawl towards a medical kit, and sighed. He lifted his toe and firmly, yet somewhat gently, considering they were on opposite teams, stomped on his hand, preventing him from reaching the pack. He winced as he did it; he didn't want to hurt him more than he was already likely hurting.  
Without their Medic, the enemy team likely wouldn't stand a chance, so he kept him pinned there until the all-too familiar cry of "We have taken the enemy intelligence!" rang out through the base's loudspeakers. The German's eyes widened when he heard it, and though he had stopped looking, Dell could sense the other man's expression. It was time. He pulled out his shotgun, aimed it perpendicular to his foe's head, such a perfect shot where every pellet would land in his skull, and—

He couldn't do it. In fact, it wasn't the first time either. He'd been confused and dejected about killing field medics for a few weeks now.

Seeing the pitiful look on the guy's face was too much for Dell to bear. It reminded him of his own Medic. Pyro, confused, mumbled something incoherent with a higher pitch at the end, indicating a question.  
"Ya take care o' him," the Engineer sighed. "Because God knows Ah can't."  
Pyro nodded, and he looked away and covered his ears, even though it wasn't enough to block out the horrendous screams coming from the Medic. He winced, and kept keeping his senses away from the scene until the sounds died and he heard footsteps walk away. When he glanced back, there was no body. 'Pyro likely picked it up or something,' he thought. 'At least I hope.'  
He couldn't finish him off himself because he didn't want to kill a field medic. 'Why the fuck did that happen?' I say, since, y'know, they're supposed to be deadly, vile mercenaries? But, I digress, reader.

The whoosh of papers and the flurry of footsteps approaching could be heard as a small group of people wearing red entered the briefcase room. There, the Engineer saw some of his colleagues: the Demoman, a drunkard Scot with one eye and a vest brandishing pipe bombs, the Soldier, a patriotic dumbass with a too-big helmet, military coat, and grenades on a bandolier, and...

His Medic. And you know what that fucker had, reader?

The enemy intelligence.

I guess both teams did stupid shit today, huh?

Wheezing, the group stumbled towards the desk, already knowing they'd won. An old woman's cry of "Victory!" rang through the building as they wiped their tears, the Medic exhaling a sigh.  
The Texan walked towards the German, and the latter turned towards him. He put his arms on Dell's shoulders, stared him straight into the eyes, and then knocked his head forwards in a hearty laugh, shaking his friend's shoulders along with himself. Dell couldn't help but laugh as well, since to him, the sight of an adorably red and wheezing German "doctor" couldn't help but make the chuckling contagious.

You heard what I said. He also realized what he thought. All of a sudden, he'd looked like he'd laughed for more than he had. Hands still on the shorter mercenary's shoulders, Josef's laughing ceased. He noticed Dell, quiet and looking down and to the right, appearing as if lost in thought.  
"Are you okay, mein freund?" he asked.  
Broken from his thought processes, the Engineer looked up at him and gave a half-hearted grin. "Yeah, Ah'm fine, pardner."  
Sighing, the Medic didn't push him. He knew that his friend tended to bottle things up and that there wasn't much he could do. At least he knew that he was always there for him if he needed to talk. Sometimes he'd take up the unspoken offer, sometimes he wouldn't. It usually depended on his mood, or how bad the situation was.

Everyone filed back into the main part of the base with cheers and shouts. Checking the time, Dell noticed that it was half past 5 o'clock. Since it was getting later, and everyone was tired after the battle, he decided to go ahead and fix up dinner for everybody so he could hopefully go out to town for some spare parts—and to think—before it got dark outside.  
Humming to himself as he worked, he eventually finished, making a big dish of macaroni and cheese, cornbread, seasoned ribs, and a few steaks, mostly to make sure no one stole Spy's requested medium rare one. He sighed as he knew the second he would ring the bell, it'd all be decimated within minutes. Honestly? I wouldn't blame them. That kind of shit sounds good, doesn't it, reader? So, instead of shaking the bell, he went over to both Pyro and Spy and tapped them on the shoulders, beckoning them to follow him. "Get what ya want before the heathens take it all." Dell insisted, and Spy nodded and grabbed a plate, taking his steak and a piece of cornbread and waiting at the door. He knew he needed to wait so the others wouldn't steal the food off of his goddamn plate. The Engineer grabbed a plate for Pyro, and had them point to what they wanted and gesture how much as he filled up their plate with what they wanted. Of course, as he had predicted, most of their meal was made up of mac 'n' cheese and cornbread. Honestly, that was the whole reason he made it, so that they'd be happy. Dell also went ahead and grabbed a meal of his own, filling his plate with a normal amount of ribs, cornbread, and mac 'n' cheese. He then went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer for himself, and glanced at Pyro, nonverbally asking what they wanted. They put a fist with their index finger curled slightly up to their face, then pulled it in and stuck their pinky towards the corner of their mouth and tilted it up and faced the back of their hand to him.

For confused readers, which is what I would be too, after reading all that, here's what that is. Those hand motions are the American Sign Language meaning for "apple juice." Now you know. Let's get back to the story.

Dell nodded, and grabbed a bottle of juice, handing it to Pyro, along with his beer.  
"Can ya carry these?" he asked, and they nodded. He grabbed his plate, rang the bell notifying the others of dinner, then grabbed Pyro's and headed to their room to eat, ignoring the swarming mass of famished men.

When they arrived in their room, he set the plates down on the bed, and Pyro set the bottles on the bedside table on top of pre-placed coasters. Dell excused himself to go grab a bottle opener while Pyro took their mask off and sat down. When he returned, he took note of this and then locked the door out of respect for the pyromaniac. Saying nothing, he opened both bottles, making sure he grabbed his beer, and sat down on the bed next to the other and ate. When he finished, he watched Pyro to make sure they ate it all.

I suppose you guys want to know what the masked schizophrenic looks like, huh? Well, since Dell gets to, I suppose you do as well, and I should start off by saying that this is top secret information, you hear? Only Josef and Dell have seen the guy without it.  
He's about 5'8, with fair skin and a pink undertone. His eyes are a brilliant green, and he has blonde hair and freckles all over his longer, oval-shaped face.

When he was done eating, the Texan helped him put his mask on, and he unlocked the door when it was secure. Grabbing the plates and bottles, he gently put them in the sink and threw the empty juice and beer containers away.

It was time to go to town.


	3. Drive, Son, Drive

Grabbing his keys, Dell headed to his workshop in the corner of the base. After having done the dishes and resting, he had looked at the analog clock on the wall, and he could tell that it was about 9:15 pm. He flicked on the light to find his truck and start it. To his surprise, he found his fluffy little orange tabby cat, Pumpkin, sitting on the hood of his good ol' 1949 white Chevy pickup, almost as if she was waiting for him. Cracking a smile, he walked over to his worktable and pushed it over a bit so the nearby filing cabinet could open. He unlocked the bottom drawer, immediately attracting her attention. She jumped down and rubbed her cheek on his hands as he pulled the familiar treat bag out and gave her one. She wolfed it down as he closed the drawer and stuck the key in the slot of the truck door.

Opening it, he beckoned the cat to him, and she jumped inside, resting herself in the passenger seat on top of a pre-placed pile of blankets meant specifically for her. She loved car rides, and he knew it. He got in after her and started the ignition. Before he shut the door, though, he got back out to open the garage, and then he buckled himself up and drove off towards town, his little sidekick purring the whole time. As he drove, his mind wandered.

'Why have I been acting this way? What's wrong with me?'

'I'm supposed to be a bloodthirsty, deadly mercenary, not a gentle spirit. I'm not supposed to feel this way around him.'

He continued to think as he drove, brows furrowing every time he thought of the German doctor in red.

'It doesn't even matter anyways. He's a colleague, for the love of God. Why am I getting so worked up over this?'

He turned into the lot of the hardware store, got out of the truck, and made sure all the windows were rolled up and that the doors were shut and locked so Pumpkin stayed put. He then walked inside and concentrated on what he needed to buy. 'One-and-a-half inch nails. A new flathead screwdriver. Stock up on screws, nuts, and bolts.'  
Once he found everything he needed, he checked out, and, unlocking the doors, put the couple of bags in the backseat and opened his door, only to find the cat sitting there with a longing, yet mischievous look on her face. She meowed, and he sighed.  
"Mosey on over then." She padded to the passenger side as Dell sat down in his seat, buckled, and patted his chest. "C'mere, Pumpkin."  
She jumped up onto him and laid down, purrs rumbling and rippling her fur. He backed out of the parking lot and started to head back.

'I shouldn't be getting like this over a colleague. I should be acting like this about a woman.'

That's when it hit him. And it hit him hard.

'Hold on a second. This is the same way I'd get worked up about a girl. Does this mean..?'

Yes, reader. He finally realized that he felt the same way about Josef Ludwig, a man, the same way he'd feel about a woman. Now, this may seem rather quick, but it really isn't, considering the timeline. He's felt off for months, and felt stronger types of feelings for weeks, even though these chapters have only covered a single day. So, it honestly isn't all that fast-paced.

'I can't be. This isn't possible. I'm not allowed, it's a sin,'

'It's against God and his wishes.'

'It's against what my momma taught me.'

'It's against what all my friends say.'

'It's against what the Bible fed me.'

Silent tears fell from the poor man's eyes as he drove. And he drove like there was no tomorrow. He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had committed an atrocity that was so horrible in his book that he assumed it'd send him straight to hell: falling for another man.

After what felt like days, but had actually been several hours, which is still a long time, he decided he'd had enough and didn't want his thoughts to drown him anymore. He finally headed back to the base. It took him about an hour or two in and of itself to get back, he'd driven so far out in his stormy headspace. By the time he arrived, it was around 6:30 am, and everyone was up and looking for him, as when Soldier did his morning rounds to wake everyone up, he barged into the workshop after hearing no response and found an open garage door and no Engineer in sight, and not even his beloved cat was there either. They'd all assumed that she went wherever he did, since he would never leave that door open if he left her behind.

Pulling into the garage, he yawned as a shout could be heard. He got out and shut the big door before letting the tabby out of the truck, locking it after her.   
"Oh, doktor, Engineer is back." a heavyset, tall and bald Russian man with a red t-shirt, baggy pants, and a bandolier missing its bullets called out.

The field medic rushed into the room and stopped in front of the exhausted Texan, fuming.  
"Where have you been?!" he yelled down at the shorter man.

"Out." was the only response the German got.

Sighing away his obvious frustration, he spoke in a lower, quieter tone. "Dell, are you okay?"  
"Ah'm alright." the Engineer briskly replied.  
"Are you sure? Something seems to be very—"  
"Ah'm sure, dammit! Ah told you Ah'm fine!" he interjected, and sighed, looking up at the other man with his eyes full of sorrow. "Ah'm sorry, Ah didn't mean to snap at ya, Josef. Ah'm gonna head to bed now, one of y'all can fix breakfast. Just make sure it ain't Pyro or Soldier."

"At least it's ceasefire." the Medic muttered as Dell stalked off towards his bedroom to think and get some much needed sleep.


	4. Der Alt Taube (The Old Dove)

Watching him go, Josef sighed. He had basically just gotten up, and he had already gotten into a small fight with Dell after being worried and searching for him. Not only that, but the Texan slunk off to his room, which was something he never did. He'd always slink off to his workshop to tend to his machines.  
'Etwas muss wirklich falsch sein', the Medic thought. 'Something must be really wrong.'  
He disregarded his thoughts and went to go make breakfast, since his shorter friend wasn't feeling up to it. Knowing Dell wouldn't want to be bothered, and that he wouldn't want to open up for a little bit, he just fixed up some pancakes and left it for the other mercenaries. Walking to his lab, he passed by the others who were waiting on food. With a nod from Josef, they all scrambled to the kitchen to get their fill.

Shoes softly tapping the concrete floors, he approached the lab and grabbed the handles of the room's entrance, prepared to quickly open and shut it. He did so, and the flurry of feathers that greeted him seemed to have not changed in number. Nonetheless, he started counting, making sure none of his doves had escaped. 'Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht'—He got all the way up to the worryingly high number of 16, until he realized that one was missing. "Archimedes?" He gently whispered out, only to hear a coo coming from above him. Instead of looking up, Josef reached his hands up to the top of his head and felt around, that way if he was up there he wouldn't fall off, running his fingers along the familiar soft, yet rough texture of old, bloodstained stomach feathers. He breathed out a sigh of relief and adjusted his circular glasses, accidentally touching the lenses with his finger. Annoyed, he took them off and cleaned them on his coat.  
He walked over to his desk, took one good look at the chaos of papers and files,

'Nein.'

'Nicht heute. Not today.'

There was almost nothing to busy himself with, except the constant pecking and cooing of rock doves of all different shades and sizes. That giving him an idea, he decided to... experiment a little bit.  
Resting his Medigun in its cradle, the Medic grabbed a cotton pad and some vodka, and dipping it in the liquor, he cleaned some of the blood off of it, then sterilized his tools. Seizing a syringe, he strode over to the cabinet and looked for sedatives, filling up the syringe to a very small amount as to make sure the dove in question wouldn't overdose. He walked over to Archimedes, and wrapped a small towel around his head, blocking his vision and keeping him calm. He never made a sound as the needle entered the right side of his chest, right into the pectoral muscle, releasing the anesthesia into his bloodstream. After a few minutes, the bird fell asleep, and Ludwig grabbed a handy-dandy ventilator and gently pushed the cup over Archimedes's beak.

He got to work. He grabbed the device and studied it closely. Dell had done him proud. Clutching a small tube, he gently drilled, scraped, and cut into the bird's spine, connecting the unknown device like—

—I don't fucking know, reader, make up a comparison.

Once the machine's tubes were connected to the bird's arteries, he flicked on the medigun and pulled the cradle closer to the small bird as he slept, causing the absolute gory mess to heal instantly, and as it was supposed to, the device stuck out a little bit. Ludwig stared at the bird.

Archimedes was seven, going on eight. For most bird species, no time at all. But for a rock dove? He was bound to die soon. Feeling bad for the Medic, the Engineer had crafted a smaller version of the life-sustaining device we, but not Josef, know was used on all three Mann brothers and the Administrator. Dull feathers and nails twitching, the bird started to wake. Slowly powering the machine on as he had been instructed before, the bird was fully, albeit groggily, awake.

He set Archimedes upright on the operating table that was humorously large for him and looked him up and down. The dove's posture was bad, his wings jutted out a bit, and his beak was slightly distorted. He inserted some of the valuable substance that Dell had given him into the device, and those features dimmed a little bit, making him appear about a year younger. He smiled as Archimedes's posture straightened out and the bird cooed.

Archimedes was going to live a long, healthy life that would rival the rest of Ludwig's own.

Setting his tools down, he knew better than to keep avian blood on his hands, and he turned the sink on, washing his hands up to the elbows, a common practice in medicine. Drying them off with a towel, he strode over to the small cubicle-like area meant for the birds' feed and water. Checking the amount, he opened a tub and grabbed a scoop of the familiar mix, made up of various grains and oats, dumping it into the bowl. He didn't cage them, but rather, the big lab was their cage.

Josef had always had a deep respect for animals, even when experimenting on them. He'd never intentionally hurt one, except for the bugs that flew in when he wasn't careful with the doors. When experimenting with them, he'd always make sure the animal was under anesthesia, and never awake, in case they felt the pain. The Medic knew the effects of the medigun on animals and humans were similar, but since the animals couldn't tell him if it hurt, he had no clue if it did or not. He'd always be gentle, and make sure he never broke a bone or damaged an organ. If he did that, he would never, no, could never forgive himself.

People, on the other hand, were a different story. He never shared that same respect that he had with helpless animals with humans. In fact, he'd often joke around and be unprofessional while doing surgery on someone, and never once were they put under. Ludwig was a mean, sadistic son of a bitch when it came to his peers. Ignoring their cries of pain and shouts of "Hey, hang on," he'd always keep doing whatever he was doing. The most care and respect he treated his fellow Menschen with was sterilizing the tools and workspace so they wouldn't get sepsis.

So yeah, reader. None of our heroes in this story are truly heroes. They're both sadistic fucks with a self-centered flaw of some kind: Dell's god complex and Josef's lack of empathy for just about 99.99% of the world's population, or somewhere around that number. I mean, c'mon, you should know this by now:

These two are a fucked up duo.


	5. Oktoberfest

Suggestive content warning, but nothing graphic.

After he finished feeding the doves, Josef glanced back at Archimedes, sighing out as he inspected the machine on the dove's back. Every aspect of the device practically screamed 'Dell' to him, and he smiled sadly at his beloved pet. He'd realized a while back that he had a romantic interest in the Texan, but he knew that it was unlikely he felt the same way; after all, he WAS raised in the Bible belt. Unlike Dell, Josef had accepted that he was attracted to men a long time ago.

Sighing once more, the medic grabbed a bottle opener and opened a cabinet; most assumed it was full of medical supplies, but in reality, it was filled almost to the brim with bottles of authentic German beer that had been imported from his home country. Popping one open, Josef wasted no time in chugging it down, opening another and drinking it nearly as fast.

By the strike of the next hour, the German had consumed his tenth bottle, a feat that was remarkable, and only God knows how he did it. Popping open two more, he stumbled to a cot, sitting down on the edge of it and setting them down on an instrument table, burying his head in his hands and starting to quietly sob.

"He cannot love me, it isn't possible..." he groaned, silent, somber tears streaming down his face. "He was raised to hate people like me."

"But as a primate, a human, I do have an innate curiosity..."

Josef stood, albeit shakily, and grabbed both beers, stumbling towards the workshop, not taking notice of the clock reading 7:46 pm. The sun was setting as he knocked on the door, being greeted by Dell, who seemed unpleased at first, then shocked when he saw the medic in his current state. "Josef?" he murmured, concerned. "Ja? I am right here!" Josef slurred back, laughing at his own horrible joke.

I mean, come on, reader, who the fuck laughs at a joke like that?

A drunk man, that's who.

Josef waltzed right on in, drunkenly handing one of the bottles to Dell and laughing to himself as he sat down right on the workbench, on top of the blueprints the engineer had been working on. With a small "Thanks", Dell started to slowly sip the alcohol, watching the medic as he wolfed his down. "Woah there, fella, how many've you had?" he asked.

"Hmm... I think this is my twelfth!" Josef exclaimed, bubbly and slurring his words.

"What, twelve, goddamn, gimme that!" the engineer yelped, snatching the beer from the German.

"Hey, herr stattlich, I was drinking that!" the medic complained.

Realizing that he had said 'mister handsome', his eyes widened, and Dell got the gist of what he had said, face turning red as Josef looked at him nervously. When he didn't look upset or angry, the German hesitantly took in his features; his goggles pulled down around his neck revealed his grey-blue eyes, his shirt looked as crisp and clean as ever, the overalls were neat and taut, the belt pocket had a little teddy bear in it—

His gaze shifted inwards, but not even for a whole second before he almost jumped down, wrapping his arms around Dell's neck and leaning to the right, enveloping him in a kiss full of alcohol and held-back emotions as he leaped up slightly, wrapping his legs around the engineer and being picked up, the Texan's face full of shock.

And suddenly, Josef's lips moved from dancing with his, down to his neck teasingly, and Dell fumbled with his thighs, trying to push him off and set him back down. He was drunk. This wasn't right.

"Ich liebe dich... Do you not..?" the medic solemnly asked as he was put down.

"Yer drunk," was all Dell coldly said before grabbing the garbage can, throwing up before Josef could.

"It's a goddamned sin..." he sputtered between each heave of his weakened shoulders. "It's a sin..."

"It's not a sin—"

"Dammit, Ah know! Ah know it ain't a sin..." Dell retorted, and cupped the medic's face gently, wiping his mouth with his other hand and then pulling him in for another desperate kiss, the both of them silently crying into it as they pulled away at the same time for air, the longing hanging in the dank yet comforting room. "God damns me, but Ah love you too, Josef..."

They simply stood like that for a while, embracing each other and reeling in the pleasantness of the moment. Although no one had officially asked, the two 'nerds' of the team were essentially together, in a romantic relationship.

They had finally had their happy moment.

Picking the medic back up, Dell opened the door to his room and laid him down, sliding in beside him and pulling the covers over them both, hands wrapped around Josef's waist and up underneath the back of his shirt, rubbing his back and smiling softly, enjoying the feel of the skin he had been reluctant to feel. They fell asleep rather peacefully, holding each other close, as if they were afraid to let go.

Until the harsh, loud rapping came at 6 am sharp.


	6. A Hot-Blooded Killer

Spooked, the two jolted, and groaned, Dell getting up and storming to the door, slamming it open to a disgruntled Soldier, who had begun to take somewhat of an interest in the Texan, though Dell wasn't sure why. "What in Sam hill do you want?!" he shouted, earning a hidden eyebrow raise in surprise from Jane. "I was waking you up—" the Soldier started, looking past him and seeing the doctor lying in his bed. Immediately shutting his mouth, he grabbed the knob that the Engineer had pulled to shut the door, and slammed it back shut himself, speedily walking down the hall to the other rooms to wake everyone else up.

He already knew he'd met his demise.

But the tough exterior never allowed him to admit it.

After waking everyone else up, he strode back to his room almost somberly, ignoring his best friend, Tavish DeGroot, who was making fun of himself in an effort to cheer him up.

'He's not going to be mine,' Jane thought, unable to do anything but stare down at the floor, 'Did I do something wrong?'

Helen's voice came on the loudspeaker to warn them of an upcoming battle, and he begrudgingly got himself the rest of the way ready.

Their hidden eyes met, and the Soldier gave the Engineer a forced, fake grin in response to his genuine one. The alarm bell rang, and Josef and Mikhail, the Heavy, set out, the Medic having built up his charge in preparation.

Bombs, rockets, syringes, bullets, pellets, bones, and gore painted the barren landscape as both teams fought to their recurring deaths, dying and reforming like it wasn't a feat of engineering so amazing the rest of the world should have a hold on, their seemingly infinite supply of ammo littering every surface. Dell was only slightly bloody; no spies had backstabbed him. A warbled cry exited the loudspeakers after about 2 hours or so of battle, screaming "Abort, abort! Cease your fire!"

Everyone pointed their guns down, including Medic with his medigun, who promptly collapsed, much to the Engineer's horror, and he sprinted as fast as possible to him, grabbing him. Huffing and puffing, he supported him and took him to a small area with a medkit.

Unbeknownst to them, a danger lurked.

Setting him down and taking his own overshirt off, Dell ripped a sleeve off and tied it over a deep wound in Josef's arm, and the other sleeve went on his leg. The Engineer stepped back for a second to pull his overalls back up, and then it happened. 

A few small beeps, and stickybombs were exploded.

Everything was loud, so loud. His ears rang with the sound of the explosion, and he rushed back over, grasping at unrecognizable body parts as if he were in one piece. His gut wrenched with worry, until he realized the reason for the ceasefire:

Respawn was inactive.

The worry and anxiety turned to anger and an intense rage, and the Engineer pinned the offending Demoman down, ripping the launcher from his hands, and he started to hit. Dell bludgeoned the drunken man over and over again with his wrench, not caring how much blood covered him, and eventually moved his wrench to his left hand, taking his glove off and smacking him with the Gunslinger, the crunch of broken bones and squelch of internal organs being the only sound he could hear, and when he snapped out of it, he stepped back.

The BLU team's Demoman was beaten to death beyond recognition. His face was caved in, and he was bleeding from wounds all over his body. Looking down at himself, he realized that he'd beaten him so badly, there wasn't a single white spot left on his wife-beater. The entire garment was red, soaked and stained with blood, and that blood ran down his skin, all over his hands and chest.

He looked like a psychopath in that moment.

He needed a way to get Josef revenge.

Thinking of all their time as friends, there was one time that stood out to him.

Josef, the RED Medic, had sold his soul to the devil, and then surgically attached everyone's souls to it.

A grin painted his face as he pulled his goggles down around his neck, and he laughed.

He knew what he needed to do to get his revenge.


End file.
